


Bedding In

by coolbyrne



Series: Cherry Wood and Whiskey [9]
Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-10-01 18:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20367085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: She only asked for 2 things when they got married- a new kitchen and a new bed. She gets one in this story.





	Bedding In

It's not that he didn't trust her- of course he did. He wouldn't love her if he couldn't. But he also knew it was unfair to ask her to stay the hell out of the basement, especially when she made no secret as to how much she loved watching him work with his hands. In fact, he could vividly recall one particular moment when she showed him, lavishing so much attention to them that she could still make heat burn the tips of his ears at the office if she gave his hands a certain look. And, being honest with himself, he liked her in the basement, his quiet sentinel sitting on the bench she made herself (!), either perusing through a file, a book, or his tools, helping herself to his whiskey or to him. The daughter of a carpenter had some woodworking secrets he enjoyed coaxing out of her. They were nothing he didn't already know, but he loved withholding until she relinquished, usually right after she sighed his name in frustration and grabbed his hips or his hand or his hair.

Where was he? Right. Trust. He trusted her but maybe he didn't trust himself to not relinquish his own 'secrets' with her around, a point the last 2 minutes in his head clearly proved. So he waited until she had left for Chicago for a mandatory department conference before he pulled out the wood he'd been saving and got to work.

He had 3 days to get it done.

…..

Fortunately, he'd got it done in 2, because she came home early, as he knew she would, not to catch him off-guard but because, as she had always said (and often shown before the door had closed behind her and her luggage had hit the floor), she missed him. _That_ had taken time to get used to- a confession not meant to guilt him into something, but just a matter of fact, in the same way she always said 'I love you', not because she needed him to say it back, but simply because she liked saying it. And like so many things she had taught him, he had discovered how much he liked hearing it.

"I missed you," she whispered against his lips while her hands roamed from his shoulders down to squeeze his ass. "All of you. Maybe some parts more than others."

"Jesus, Jack." He went for exasperation but landed closer to satisfaction.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Dropping one last kiss, she grabbed her bag and said, "Let me just take this upstairs and then I'll let you take me out for lunch."

He grinned at her 'allowance', then quickly remembered the past 2 days. "I got it," he offered, reaching for the bag.

His chivalry was normally appreciated, but she turned her head to give him a side eye. "Why?"

"Whattya mean 'why'? Can't I offer to take my wife's bag upstairs?"

She purred at the term- they'd yet to hit their 6 month mark and everything was still so new.

"You can offer," she agreed, "but you have to tell me what you're hiding first." 

"No idea what you're talking about, Sloane."

The playful use of her maiden name all but admitted his ruse and invited her to play along.

"Is there a woman upstairs?"

"No. I told her to leave an hour ago." He held up his arms against her rapid slap assault.

"Very funny!" 

The slaps slowed down and he grabbed her hands, which ended up on his hips as his mouth ended up on hers. 

"Fine," she said, satiated. "Take my bag, Gunny."

He slung it over his shoulder but jerked his head up the stairs. "You comin'?"

She didn't- never- needed to be asked twice.

"Grab my ass and you'll be luggin' this up yourself."

He wasn't surprised when she immediately chose the former. He definitely wasn't surprised that he didn't enforce the latter. 

…..

His frame blocked her view when they got to the bedroom, so her silence was expected; it was the length that caught him by surprise, and he was just about to say something after dropping the bag at the closet door when saw her expression. 

He had known from the moment he met her that he’d never get tired of looking at her. Even in the early days, he knew he could find a comfort, a solace, an escape in her countenance. He would be given honesty and vulnerability and more often than not, a reason- a reason to argue, to agree, to surrender, to laugh. Not much had changed except he had more reason to love. And when he saw _that_ expression? His chest tightened not with the pride in knowing he was responsible for bringing that look to her face, but in marvelling at the idea that he could.

“I-” She slowly walked towards the foot of the cherry wood bed frame. “You made this?” She shook her head. “Of course you made it. I mean- I don’t know what I mean.” Her fingers stuttered over the ornate design, her eyes taking in the craftsmanship of the four posts that had obviously been done by hand. The skill it took was for all to see, but the love involved was for her alone. When she lowered her chin, her hair shielded her face. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“Hey. Hey,” he said, standing in front of her and brushing back her blonde. His gentle word and touch encouraged her to look up, and seeing her eyes bright with tears, he brushed them away. “If you want that thing from IKEA, we’ll get it.”

It took her a second to realize what he was saying, and when she did, she punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t be an ass.” Her demand did little to hide her laugh. Turning around, she sighed as his hands came around to her front, encouraging her to settle back into him. He was pretty sure he heard her whisper, “I can’t believe it,” but before he could ask her to repeat it, she said, “I hope it’s sturdy, because it’s going to get a hell of a lot of use.”

That she could go from vulnerable to sass in a matter of minutes would always knock him sideways. In the best way. Tilting his head close, his mouth against his ear, he could give as good as he got. “I put padding on the headboard.” He could feel her lean in for a look and he chuckled. “I meant the other side.”

…..

It was one thing to joke about protecting the headboard from banging against the wall while they were in the comfort of their own home; it was quite another to bring that teasing out in the open, in the middle of the showroom at the mattress store. But bring it out she was, if ‘bring it out’ meant throwing it around like confetti, splashing in it like puddles in a rainstorm, witnesses be damned. He wished he had brought a ball cap or something to conceal his identity.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, reading his mind. “Mattresses like this last a decade. These people will be gone by the time we need to come back.”

“Great. A new generation to mortify.”

Much to the delight of the staff, she had taken the bounce test seriously, had wondered aloud if they had satin sheets to match a cherry wood bed frame, and had openly questioned the durability of open coil versus pocket spring, all in a feigned innocence that didn’t fool anyone. 

“Is that what you think they are, babe?” The word- like everything else- was thrown in to get a reaction, to which she smirked. “Mortified? I mean, we could give them something to be really mortified about, if you want.” Her hips reacquainted themselves with his, her fingers pulling him closer with his belt loops.

“What I want? I want-” His grumble dissolved in the wake of her small pout. “I want you to be happy.”

Grinning, she pulled his hand. “Let’s try this one.”

The salesperson, who Gibbs would grudgingly respect for knowing when to come by and when to leave, helpfully let them know, “That’s our memory foam. Conforms to your shape, regardless of position.”

The word made Jack snort into Gibbs’ neck as she curled into him. “Tell me it’s not just me.”

Ignoring her laugh, Gibbs held out his one free arm and replied, “I’m her memory foam.”

“Don’t listen to him, Matthew- his Sleep Number is ‘me’.” She sat up and said sotto voice, “This one likes to cuddle. Don’t even know why we’re looking at queen size beds- he’s just going to end up on my side anyway.” Her sigh was heavy and exaggerated.

“If you don’t mind me saying, I’d allow him to eat crackers.” He glanced at a clearly displeased Gibbs. “I’m not going to lose a sale over that, am I?”

“Lose a sale?” Jack repeated, slapping the bed, thoroughly amused. “Hell no! In fact, where’s your most expensive mattress?”

…..

They didn’t end up buying the most expensive mattress, instead settling on something in between. And he lied about the padding. But he fixed that later.

…..

-end


End file.
